


Illuminate

by MG12CSI16



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Comforting John, F/M, Feels, Flashbacks, Fluff, Grieving Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort, Post Reichenbach, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 04:49:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MG12CSI16/pseuds/MG12CSI16





	Illuminate

_You and me have seen everything to see_

_From Bangkok to Calgary_

_And the soles of your shoes_

_Are all worn down_

_The time for sleep is now_

_It's nothing to cry about_

_'Cause we'll hold each other soon_

Death Cab for Cutie _– I will follow you into the dark_

_The first time he kisses her is in her flat._

_They’re standing in front of the kitchen window he’s just snuck in through with unsurprising stealth, neither of them truly surprised to see the other. He has blood dripping from a cut just above his right brow and she’s standing in her nighty, wringing her hands together nervously as she waits for him to speak._

_Finally, in a low and cracked voice that seems to have aged ten years, he says, “it’s done,” and Molly feels like she can’t breathe._

_Her eyes widen and her heart beat quickens to a terrifying speed, thumping against her ribcage like a trapped animal and all she can think is ‘thank god’._

_It’s been nearly three years of waiting to hear the words, three years of tending to wounds that should have killed him and trying not to be swallowed by guilt whenever John Watson would smile at her and thank her for being such a good friend._

_Three years of waiting for him._

_Which is why, she likes to think, she suddenly finds the courage she’s been seeking out for nearly a decade as she grabs his face between her quaking hands, ignoring the stickiness of the blood, and pulls his lips to hers._

_Of course what’s even more surprising is the way Sherlock Holmes kisses her back._

_Tangling his fingers through her damp auburn hair in a smooth, fluid motion and moaning into her mouth when she’s daring enough to wrap her tongue around his in a desperate tango that has them both yearning for more._

_She pulls back breathlessly when it’s over and looks up, prepared to see regret or even worse, nothing, etched onto his face._

_All she sees is a smile._

* * *

“Could you pass me that slide?” he asks her one day, his nose shoved down the microscope he’s been hunched over since this morning.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s slept.

Molly’s sitting on the stool in front of him, her ankles crossed and her chin resting in her cupped hands. She looks at him pointedly and raises an eyebrow at his request.

It earns her a sigh and he reaches over and picks it up himself, ignoring her smirk as he places it carefully on his prepared scope. He takes a quick glance before sitting back and pushing it away, folding his arms across his chest and screwing his eyes shut.

 _“What’s the matter?”_ she asks, noting the distress etched into his features. 

Sherlock shifts uncomfortably on the stool and avoids her worried gaze a she blinks a few tomes. He knows if he looks that he’ll break because she’s always had that power, the ability to draw the truth out of him no matter how painful it was. He finds out quickly that this time isn’t any different and he meets her challenging stare, blows the breath he was holding between his teeth.

He waves the white flag.

“I miss you.”

 It comes out slightly sharper than he intends, mostly because of embarrassment but also because he knows that admitting it won’t change a thing. But Molly doesn’t seem to notice the sadness in his eyes, and if she does she doesn’t let on. She just smiles and covers his hand with hers, wrapping it in her ice cold fingers and giving a reassuring squeeze.

_“I miss you too.”_

* * *

_His return to the land of the living conjures a media frenzy unlike anything he or Molly have ever experienced. Everywhere Sherlock goes, cameras are sure to follow and it doesn’t take long for the constant spotlight to get to him._

_It starts with a sharp knock on her door. Nearly ten at night, she’s already in her nighty and doesn’t think to grab her robe before she rushes to the door and stands on her tiptoes to see who could possibly want her attention this late._

_The only thing she sees is a mop of black curls._

_Her fingers work to undo the lock and he flies in almost as soon as she turns the knob, the collar of his coat turned up to hide his face. Molly can hear a commotion coming from down the hall but before she can peek around the doorframe Sherlock grabs her and pulls her back in, slamming the door before trapping her against it and capturing her lips in his own._

_“Those reporters are incorrigible,” he says into her mouth, ignoring the tiny whimpers she lets out as he pulls away without warning and the way her face falls when his hands leave her body._

_She feels herself shaking with want._

_Molly’s still pressed against the door as he moves to stalk around the flat and the voices outside the door get louder, he doesn’t even stop until he notices she has yet to move. She’s frozen in place as he steps closer and reaches out to brush a strand of hair from her face. His touch is like fire._

_Then her voice lashes at him like a newly sharpened knife and Sherlock feels himself reeling back out of pure shock._

_“What are you doing here?”_

_Her voice is laced with a bitter tone that takes him by surprise, her face hard as she stares at him with her arms crossed over her semi exposed chest. And maybe it’s because he’s not used to this sort of thing, or maybe it’s because no matter how easy it is for him to read Molly Hooper on the outside he still hasn’t quite mastered the art of sentiment,_ especially _when it comes to her._

_“I thought you’d want to see me?”_

_There’s a groan and Molly runs a frustrated hand through her hair, trying to look anywhere but at him._

_“Of course I want to see you Sherlock but honestly I can’t play this game with you anymore. Either we have something here or I’m nothing more than a quick shag every time you get bored.”_

_She sniffs and wipes at her eyes but Sherlock catches her hand and she feels one of his calloused thumbs running across the damp apple of her cheek._

_“Is that what you really think is going on here?” he accuses, keeping his hand on her cheek as she secretly cherishes the feel._

_She’s almost ashamed to nod her affirmation and when Sherlock shakes his head in disgust she feels her bottom lip quivering._

_“Molly the last thing I would do is use you, for sex or any other ridiculous thing you can think of. Why would you even assume that’s what was going on?”_

_Now it was her turn to shake her head._

_“Because Sherlock, you don’t act like I’m anything special. I only see you when you’re working or when the reporters are hassling you. You don’t like to talk about this-us, and…” she takes a moment to catch her breath but it only seems to result in a fresh wave of tears as she looks deep in his eyes, “you never seem to stay.”_

_She chokes on a few more sobs, feeling Sherlock’s arms wrap around her, his lips grazing across her salty cheek before settling by her ear and his next words seem to rid her of every insecurity she’s ever felt._

_“Why don’t you ask me then?”_

* * *

Despite John’s protests he finds himself caught in a summer storm, soaked to the bone on a park bench and lacking the ability to care. His curls are plastered to his forehead, the inky black color a startling contrast to his alabaster skin. He’s just closed his eyes against the few golden rays that have managed to fight their way through the clouds when he hears the voice he’s been yearning for.

“ _And what do you think you’re doing out here in this weather? You’ll catch your death and then poor John will be running around for the rest of the week to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”_

Ok, maybe he wasn’t yearning for the scolding but still, the sound of her voice is enough to instantly calm his frazzled nerves.

Sherlock looks over and sees her standing there in a damp jumper with a picture of a cat on it, hair tied back out of her face. He wishes she would let it down like she used to and it takes all of his self-control not to reach over and do it himself.

Instead he settles for casual conversation.

“John’s getting married tomorrow.”

He hears her sigh sadly as she rests her chin on his shoulder.

_“I know. He’s been nervous these past few days, it might do both of you some good if you go and talk to him.”_

She glances up at him hopefully but his mouth his twisted into a pout. Talking to John is harder than it used to be because now it seems even his ever faithful doctor doesn’t understands him.

No one does.

Instead he ignores her suggestion and takes in a deep breath, wishing he could have one more whiff her vanilla scented soap but all he seems to smell is rain and cold air. He closes his eyes and feels her hand resting on his knee.

“I wish you’d be there…with me.”

He doesn’t see it but he can feel her smile into the crook of his neck, her lips painfully soft.

_“Don’t you know better Sherlock Holmes? Of course I’ll be there.”_

Sherlock laughs, his chapped lips parting just slightly as the sound emanates from deep in his throat. It wouldn’t be the same and he knew it.

It would never be the same.

* * *

_In the end she leaves him with a kiss and the promise to be home before dark._

_It’s nearly eight in the evening before he ventures from the flat, his phone pressed to his ear as he leaves his fifth voice message before he gives in and sends yet another text._

_He pretends his stomach isn’t tightening with worry, pushing away every scenario that tries its hardest to creep into his mind and take over his thoughts._

_She was alright, just running late. He told himself._

_She’s just forgotten to call, probably an accident of some sort holding her up._

_It’s not until he gets down to Bart’s and sees the crowd gathered round, some with tears in their eyes and hands over their mouths, before he really starts to feel the fear constricting his chest. There are lights and sirens and he’s almost sure he can see Donovan standing on the sidewalk; her head cast down and caught between her hands, refusing to look at whatever scene was unfolding behind her._

_Lestrade is there as well with his face impossibly pale and his hands shaking while he talk on his mobile, and when his eyes lock on Sherlock the piece of technology nearly falls to the concrete below and Sherlock_ knows _it’s her._

_He pushes through the crowd who’s gathered to watch, his legs so unbelievably unstable he wonders how he even made it past the crime scene tape. He’s nose to nose with Greg who seems to appear in front of him seemingly out of nowhere, his hands gripping Sherlock’s shoulders but whether it’s to keep him standing or away from the scene he isn’t sure._

_He can’t seem to focus on anything else right now._

_His eyes are glued on the sheet just a few feet away, a few strands of auburn hair peeking out from beneath._

_And suddenly he can’t breathe._

* * *

“It’s been nearly a year,” he tells her quietly, sitting in his chair facing the window.

He’s seated on the end while she’s wedged herself behind him, hands rapping around his waist and locking together just above his navel. She sighs into his shirt sadly.

_“I know. You’ve been doing well though.”_

Sherlock laughs because they both know it’s a lie.

“I was thinking of bringing you flowers. It’s only fair I go to see you I think.”

He’s waiting for her to hum in reply, to press her lips to the back of his neck like she usually does; in all honesty he’s waiting for her to do _anything,_ but all of a sudden the room feels empty and cold and he calls out in a voice that sounds almost desperate.

“Molly?”

All he hears is hurried footsteps and then,

“Sherlock, are you alright?”

John appears in the doorway with a frown marring his face, his eyes sad and filled with pity. Sherlock curses himself and runs his hands through his untamed curls, tugging roughly at the ends in frustration. And then he screams, a guttural sound he’s never heard from himself before, and feels the unfamiliar sensation of tears as they stream down his cheeks, looking up at John with a helpless look that is nearly enough to shatter the ex-army doctor who can’t seem to think of anything to say.

Instead he just sinks down into the chair next to Sherlock and puts a hand on his shoulder and pretends he doesn’t hear him whispering her name over and over.

“I’m so sorry Sherlock. I know she meant a great deal to you…”

He trails off as Sherlock’s head rises just slightly and he stares out the window again, watching the raindrops ping off the glass as the clouds paint a mural in the sky. His voice is so quiet John has to strain to hear what he says but the words end up being louder than if he had screamed them.

“I loved her, John.”

He hears the doctor swallow loudly and wipe at his face, squeezing his eyes shut before he opens them again and looks at Sherlock as he forces a smile.

“And she loved you too. She always has.”

He smiles a bit at that, glancing over to his right just in time to see her give him a nod and a perfectly sad smile, reaching over to kiss his cheek.

_“He’s right you know. I have always loved you.”_

And then she’s gone.

In the end she leaves him with a kiss and the promise they’ll be together soon and he supposes for now that’ll have to do.


End file.
